One More Song
by Van Darksyd
Summary: First part. Everybody's got their problems. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
1. Chapter 1

_I hurt myself today_

_to see if I still feel_

_I focus on the pain_

_the only thing that's real_

I flick the striker on my Zippo a few times, trying to get the damn thing to light. Must be low on fluid. It finally does, and I touch the dancing flame to the end of my cigarette, breathing in the acrid blue-gray smoke. My room's as dark as pitch, the only lights the lighter flame and the numbers on my stereo. It's Great Covers night on 98.4, and Johnny Cash is coming through the speakers, droning sorrowfully. I love this song, and it's sort of perfect right now. I exhale, watching the smoke blur the numbers on the stereo as it fills the air in front of me. I step across the room in the darkness, and lock the door. If my mom were to pop in, she'd blow a gasket. She wouldn't even let me have candy cigarettes as a kid. And not just the ones in the fake cig packs, even the ones that weren't marketed that way. She said it would predispose me toward smoking later in life. Sorta seems like wasted effort now, but she doesn't know that.

I sigh into the darkness, laughing a little as I flick ash into the bottom half of a Peppie cola can I use as an ashtray. She's always been so protective. It makes you wonder whether her parents were the same way. I pull open the window blinds and look out over Seattle, the city lit up against the darkness of the sky. If I look really carefully, I can see Sam's building, six blocks up, four over. I count the floors and rooms by the lights, and find hers. 5th floor, three from the left. If I got my telescope, I could see in, but I'm not that creepy by a long shot. I smile, somehow happy just because I can see her window. I shake my head at myself, mortified that I'm that moony about someone like her. I stub the cigarette out, and continue to stare out the window, thinking about her.

_the needle tears a hole_

_the old familiar sting_

_try to kill it all away_

_but i remember everything_

I sit on my bed, my belt wrapped around the top of my arm, the vein bared as I slip the needle in slowly, and let the murky liquid flow into my vein. I pull it out, and chuck the needle into the trash, along with the spoon I've been using. I won't need it anymore, I tell myself, I'm not gonna spend anymore money on that shit. I know, somewhere in the back of my mind, that in a day or two, I'll be digging it back out to shoot up again, but I need to tell myself it's the last time this time. I lie back quickly, reaching my left arm out for my cream soda, and sip it, waiting for the H to hit, and think about what happened between Freddie and I earlier today.

I remember going over to his house, apologizing for the things I said. I remember being frustrated that I had hurt him, and euphoric that he forgave me. I really do like him, but usually the things I say don't have much effect cause he knows I'm playing with him. I remember talking about the whole kissing business, but I remember it all hazy and vague, like I dreamed it. But kissing him, that I remember clear as day. Even in my H induced daze, it's clear in my head how he tasted, how he felt, how he sounded when he made that little noise in his throat. God, I want him. I've wanted him for a long time, I think, but he's always been so sure that he's in love with Carly, that I haven't said anything. Like my mom said once, you can't be rejected if you just keep your mouth shut. I think she said that at some point. I could've been high at the time, so I'm not %100 sure on that. He did seeem into the kiss, though. Can you enjoy kissing someone you don't love? My mom does it, so I suppose you can. Hm.

All of a sudden, I have an idea, and the chemicals in my brain keep me from thinking better of it. I cross the room, throw my shoes on, lock the door, turn off the radio, and crawl out onto the fire escape.

I watch Sam's light turn out, and sigh out another puff of cigarette smoke. I hadn't realized I was still watching her window until just now. I'm such a creeper. I flick the stereo over to another station, and am rewarded with an old favorite of mine.

_Under the bridge downtown (is where I drew some blood)_

_Under the bridge downtown(i could not get enough)_

I smile and lean my head back against the windowsill, closing my eyes on the darkened room. Even now with the cigarette smoke taste lingering on my lips, I can still feel and taste Sam's lips against mine. I can feel her hip under my hand, warm on a cold night in this city. I see her in my mind, grinning widely, her hands on her hips, looking dead at me. I can see her mouth move, and hear her say my name. "Freddie." I wonder why the Sam in my head sounds out of breath and whispery when i hear her say my name again, this time accompanied by a quick knock. I open my eyes to realize she's actually on the other side of the window, smiling at me and waving. Surprised, I stand up and away from the window, looking incredulously at her. "Let me in, Freddie." she says, motioning toward the lock on the window.

I step over, undoing the lock and raising the window. She clambers in, shutting the window behind her. "Sam, what are you doing? It's like 1 in the morning." I whisper, stepping close to her, "My mom's in the other room, and you know she's a light sleeper, and..." She cuts me off with her mouth, and for a second I'm surprised, but then I find myself moving my mouth against her, and wrapping my arm around her waist, and pulling her against me. Her tongue moves past my lips, and tangles with mine. Sam's arms come up around my shoulders, her hands running through my still-damp hair. At some point Carly crosses my mind, but I just can't bring myself to care. You try thinking about a sixth-grade crush who keeps shooting you down when you have a warm, soft Samantha Puckett on your face and under your hands. I am male, you know. Speaking of which, I back way from Sam slowly, looking at her from arms length. "Sam? What's going on here?" She smiles at me, lifting my hand off of her shoulders and wrapping them back around her waist.

"I enjoyed kissing you earlier, and wanted to do it again."

I blink in thought. "So you walked ten blocks at 1 in the morning and climbed seven floors on a fire escape?"

"Yeah huh."

I shake my head. "So, you just wanted to kiss me again?"

She smiles, and moves back close to me, her face nearly touching mine. "Sorta."

She presses her lips back to mine, and I return it, fairly sure she knows what she's doing. I'm a little worried about why she's doing this, but not enough to try and stop her or anything. I had always assumed she wasn't interested because she was so mean, but I'm starting to think that may not be the truth. I know it isn't when she takes the hand I've got on her hip, and presses it to her chest. Sam Puckett has snuck out at 1 in the morning, come to my house, and now she's making out with me and putting my hand on her boob. My mood has improved signifigantly. I run my hand under her shirt and under her bra, her skin hot against my hand, and she moans against me. I move my lips to her neck, suckling and nipping at he place where neck meets shoulder. She throws her head back and whispers my name to the darkened room.

"Sam?" I say, backing away a bit and looking at her face in the light of my stereo.

"Yeah?"

"I take it this is your way of saying you like me?"

"Don't even try to tell me you don't like me back. Nobody who makes out like that is NOT interested."

I chuckle under my breath, and move with her in front of me until her knees hit my bed, and she plops down. She smiles up at me, her eyes shining." Way to take charge, Benson." I laugh, and motion for her to take off her shirt. She grins again, and pulls it over her head, throwing it at my face. I catch it and chuck it across the room, toward the chair at my computer desk, and kneel in between her legs, and we're face to face now. I reach behind her and undo her bra, throwing it after the shirt, freeing her boobs to my hands and mouth, who switch between one and the other, drawing moans and gasps from the blonde's mouth. She makes this low, high pitched mewling in the back of her throat, and suddenly I want her more than I ever have before. I take a second to pull my shirt above my head, and then reach out to unbutton her jeans, and she lays back as I pull the zipper down with my teeth, then yank her pants and panties off in one quick move. The inside of her thighs are glistening with moisture as I kiss up from her knees, past her thighs, and run my tongue across her lips slowly. "Oh, Freddie..." She says, half-moan, half-whisper. "Make sure you keep it down." I say, smiling up at her before I begin exploring her with my tongue and fingers.

She's tight, like I had expected, but she's wet and ready for me. I've never done this before, but it's easier than I thought. Just focus on the spots that get the most reaction and vary how fast and what direction you move your tongue and lips. A moment of that, and I hear my name over and over again. When she cums, I feel her legs tighten on either side of my head, and her hands fist in my hair as she strains not to cry out. I lift my head from her to look up at her face just as she sits up towards me. "Freddie?" she says, pulling my lips in to hers and locking us into a kiss. I pull back with my lungs struggling for air. "Yeah, Sam?" She pulls me off my knees and to my feet before reaching forward to unbuckle my belt and whip it out of my belt loops. "I've been on the pill for a while." My Inner Voice believes this may be the greatest thing he's ever heard a woman say. I undo the button of my pants, flick them across the room with a kick, and there I am, all of me, exposed less than a foot in front of Sam Puckett. She smiles, and lays back against my Galaxy Wars sheets.

It hits me just then how beautiful she is in the wan light of my stereo and the city out the window. I bring one knee onto the bed and lean down toward her to whisper in her ear. "You're so beautiful. You really are." She kisses me briefly, then runs her hand down my chest, and takes hold of my cock, guiding me into her. I push into her slowly, listening to her gasps with immense pleasure as she adjusts to me. "My god, Freddie." she says against my shoulder, "You're so big." I smile, and then I'm suddenly all the way into her, the backs of her thighs against the front of mine. She leans up and places her mouth next to my ear. "Fuck me, diphthong." she says, grinning madly for a moment before I start moving inside her, her breath coming quick and ragged.

Everything blurs then, coming in flashes, bits of sensation. Her hands on my back, digging her nails into my flesh. Her whispery repetitions of my name and God's, all in the same breath. The low slap of flesh on flesh as I thrust into her. Her whispered intructions, "Faster." "Deeper.", each word an ecstasy in and of itself. Her hand over her own mouth to stifle her cries as she cums again and again. The vague recognition that the radio has changed to a new song. Something heavy, with a chick singer. I smile when I realize that I've been subconciuously moving in rhythm with the songs that have been playing. Finally I feel myself coming to the edge of my stamina, and I speed up, forgetting about any sort of rhythm entirely.

She opens her mouth in a silent cry as we cum simultaneously, everything exploding into bursts of light behind my eyes, my brain clicking off for a few seconds. I come to myself, and I'm collapsed onto her, sweat-drenched and satisfied. I roll off of her, and she's running her hands over her body, smiling at me. She stretches hugely, before repositioning herself to lay her head on my pillow. I scoot up til I can join her, facing her, our breath mingling. "Who's a diphthong now?" I say quietly, smiling at her. She reaches over to pat my cheek reassuringly. "You are. Freddie. I never said it was a bad thing, you know." I smile, and take her into my arms, kissing her once more before drifting off into satisfied sleep.

_Gray light, new day leaks throught the window_

_an old soul song comes on the alarm clock radio_

I slowly become aware of the early morning sun on my face and neck. Odd, my window is on the other side of the room, and it doesn't face east. I stretch in the midst of wondering, and several things come instantly to my awareness. One, I am not alone in the bed. Two, the sheets are signifigantly smoother than mine. Three, I'm sore in the most wonderful way, and in the most wonderful places. Four, last night was most certainly not a dream. Oh, no. 'Don't let me have come across town and fucked Freddie' I pray silently.

I crack one eye to take in the room. I can't see who it is lying there with his arm around my waist, but my eyes fall on the Galaxy Wars sheets. Fuck. I lay still for a minute, wondering how best to extricate myself from this position, high-tail it home, and pray Freddie thought it was all a dream, when that plan is shot down like the Red Baron. "I know you're up, Sam." Damn. I wiggle around under the arm draped across my middle to face Freddie. Oh, damn. He's smiling at me in the warm sunlight, his eyes sparkling. I hate that smile. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, like I belong here or something.

" Um..listen, Freddie..." I stammer, fidgeting with the bedsheet, "...About last night...I'm sorry, I...I was.." He smiles at me, kissing me quickly on the lips, then standing up and making his way to his bathroom. "You know, you could have just told me you liked me. There was no reason to sneak into my room and assault me. Not that I mind. In fact, I hope you continue to do it regularly." I could pass out, I really could. I had been worried all night about him waking up and realizing what he'd done, and doing the whole but-i-love-carly routine. But he's not. "You're the one who pushed me onto the bed." I say playfully, walking over to the bathroom door and leaning against the jamb, watching him brush his teeth in his robe. He smiles at me in the mirror, before spitting toothpaste into the sink.

I roll my eyes as he turns around to kiss me. He's minty-fresh, and I think I like it. "Is your mom still here?" I ask, pushing him back. "Give me a sec." he says, unlocking the door and stepping out into the hall. "Mom?" he yells into the apartment. He walks out, and I can hear doors opening and closing throughout the apartment. He comes back in, shutting the door again. "Nope. We're safe." I grin before walking past him to throw his shirt on and then out into his hallway. "Good. I'm making breakfast, and then we're staying here for the rest of the day." He pokes his head into the hall, looking after me questioningly.

" Why?"

"I'm gonna make you sorry you ever met me." I say, caressing my stomach and chest suggestively.

"Oh, no," he says sarcastically, moving back into his room, "whatever will I do. Forced to fuck Sam all day, what fresh Hell is this?"

He has no idea. I smile once more as I walk into the apartment's small kitchen in search of meat products for breakfast. No idea at all.

I sat, bored, through another episode of Girly Cow. "What's up, kid?" Spencer asks, plopping down next to me. "Sam texted me earlier saying she'd be gone all day, and then Freddie sent me almost the exact same thing five minutes later." I say, listlessly. Spencer smiles down at me, like the big brother he is. "Then you can help me with my gremlin sculpture." he says. I laugh and shake my head at him. "Sure, why not?" What could Sam and Freddie be doing **all day**?


	2. Chapter 2

I stretch and yawn loudly as I wake up from another wonderful night of sleep next to Sam. 6 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days we've been dating (not that I'm counting) and I've gotten to spend every Saturday night with her curled up in my arms as we drift off to sleep. Thank God my mom works the graveyard every Saturday night. 10 at night to 10 in the morning, and Sam is usually there for every second. All of a sudden, I notice Sam isn't in the bed where she usually is. I glance at the clock next to the bed. 7:30. Hm, she knows she doesn't have to hurry this early. I stand and throw on yesterday's pants, after retrieving them from the ceiling fan (have your pants be the only thing between you and a black-lace-teddy-wearing Samantha Puckett, see if you don't throw them like they've got the plague) and step out into the hallway. "Sam?" I yell into the hallway " Where you at?" I walk into the kitchen, expecting to see her there cooking breakfast (God, can she cook), but she isn't there. I walk all over the apartment, until eventually I check my mom's room. Before I close the door on the empty room, I notice the bathroom door is closed. Mom never closes doors. I don't know why, but I know she doesn't. I walk over and open the door, and could not be more surprised.

I wasn't an addict before. I used to do heroin on occasion, maybe once a month, smoke a little weed every coupla weeks, maybe drink a little, but I wasn't addicted to anything. Then, before I knew it, I was spending weed money on H. I wasn't just doing more heroin, it's all I was doing. I used to get by on 20 bucks a week, now I'm up to over a hundred a week for a paltry little buzz, and I'm on the floor of my boyfriend's bathroom melting the shit in one of his mom's good spoons. I hate this. I shouldn't want this shit. I don't have a shitty life. I've got a best friend who's closer than a sister, a boyfriend who can't be beat, and my mom has finally got a steady job that pays well, but here I am, on a bathroom floor with a lighter, a spoon, and a needle.

I think it was the needle that spawned it today. Freddie's mom is a nurse, and she happens to keep a supply of these things on hand for some reason, and they were just sitting on her dresser. I had walked into her room, admittedly out of pure curiosity. A person's room says a lot about them. Anyway, I had walked in, saw this stack of the little buggers, and the monkey on my back lost his damn mind. I feel so dirty, but once the monkey starts chattering, you gotta feed it, you know? I watch the white powder dissolve slowly, more slowly than usual, it seems, but that probably has to do with me being in a rush. It wouldn't do to have Fredward bust in on me at all. It finally does, and I use the syringe to suck up the murky liquid in the bottom of the spoon. I angle the hypo so it gets every bit of the junk. I love when you get a clean draw like that. It feels like you saved money somehow, as opposed to screwing around and leaving some behind.

I push the needle into the big vein on the inside of my ankle and push the plunger down. I never use the same vein twice in a row. Gives them time to recover, keeps them from flattening or collapsing. I sit back and let the rush hit me, and a big grin streaks it's way across my face. The world goes on mute a little bit, like the volume is down on the T.V. of my brain. Just as the rush hits it's peak, the door flies open, and I can't figure out why Freddie looks at me like that for a second, and then it hits me. Oh, shit. Freddie's standing there, looking confused, then his eyes get wide, and he's kneeling down beside me, the syringe in his hand. "Samantha, what is this?" he asks, shaking the needle under my nose. He only calls me Samantha when he's worried or mad. "It's..um...you see..." I stammer dumbly, but then he picks up the baggie, with it's awful little trace of white at the bottom, and his face hardens like stone. He turns to me angrily, his face reddening. "Is this some kind of drugs?" he asks, and I'm suddenly so sorry and scared and ashamed that I just burst into tears. He stands up and turns around, holding the bag in his left hand.

"I'm going to flush this," he says, holding up the small bag "and you're going to clean all this stuff up. Wash the spoon, get rid of the syringe. I don't care how, just do it. Then we need to talk." With that he leaves the room, and I sob even harder, because I know, I just know, that I've lost him. He's gonna hate me, and he'll leave me, he may even call the cops on me, but worst of all, he won't love me anymore. It takes me a minute to do what he said, clean up the bathroom and all that, and by now, I'm weeping quietly enough not to be too embarassed. I walk into the kitchen, replace the now-clean spoon in the drawer, and hide the syringe at the bottom of the trash, and then, feeling like I'm sure a prisoner feels on his way to the gallows, I walk towards Freddie's room. My name is Samantha Puckett. I am a Puckett girl, and I am supposed to be strong, but I'm also human, and I don't think I can live without him. I sigh heavily, and step into the doorway.

I'm sitting on my bed, staring out the window as I listen to Sam clean herself and the bathroom up. Sound travels well in this apartment, and I can hear her crying for what seems like a long time, and a few tears spill out onto my cheeks as well. I hear the sink run, and Sam opening drawers in the kitchen. I hear her stop just outside the room, then she opens the door and steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She stands there for a moment, not moving. I sigh deeply, preparing myself for what I have to do next. "What was it, Sam? What was it in the bag?" I ask, not turning around. " Heroin." she says hesitantly.

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much did I flush?"

"About 70 dollars worth."

"Are you mad?"

"What?"

I turn around, and she's standing just inside the room, looking at the carpet, tears running down her face. She can't meet my eyes. "Are you mad at me for flushing your heroin?" I ask again, deliberately emphasizing the name of the drug. She shakes her head. I sigh again, rubbing my forehead like I do when I'm upset. "Why, Sam? Why heroin?" She starts crying harder, and a part of me wants to walk over and just take her in my arms, but another part of me is in control just now, and he'll have answers first. She stammers out the explanation I expect. She started on weed, and then tried H, and then stayed hooked, and now it controls her life, and how she's so sorry, and she'll never do it again, and will I please forgive her and not hate her. I stand and cross the room to stand in front of her, reaching out to lift her face to meet my eyes. "Never again?" Another head shake, more tears. I smile, and wrap my arms around her, a couple more tears escaping me. "Good."

It's been three days since I quit heroin, and I'm losing my goddamned mind. I want to get high so bad, I'm eyeballing kitchen cleaners. Carly's agreed to let me stay at her place so she, Freddie, and Spencer can take turns watching me. They're keeping me on 24-hour watch unti I'm detoxed, which should take, according to Spencer, although I'm not sure about where he gets his info, anywhere from a week to two weeks. Well, if all two weeks are like the past three days, I'm gonna kill myself. I've been sweating through clothes while I'm freezing, my eyes and nose haven't stopped running. and the worst part is, I'm horny as hell, but there is no way I can do anything about that. It's hard enough having to let Freddie see me right now, much less touch me. Needless to say, I've been "taking care of myself" a lot.

Anyway, it's Spencer's shift right now, and we're playing cards, to try and distract me from the utter shittiness of my current situation. "I'll see that 5 and raise you 15." Spencer says, tossing chips casually into the pile in the center of the table. His eyebrow cocks up when he says it, I notice, and decide he's bluffing. "Spence, you might as well text me what you're doing. Call. Full House, Dead-man." I say, chucking down my Aces and Eights. Spencer's mouth twists itself into a frown as he sullenly lowers his cards to reveal a pair of Queens. "You didn't do too bad." I say reassuringly " That's a Siegfried and Roy, it's usually a pretty good hand. But you can't bluff for shit." Spencer just plops his elbows up on the table puts his hands under his chin. " I'm so bored with cards. Battleship?" I shake my head, smiling. "You're bored now that you owe me 40 bucks. And do you really wanna lose more?"

"At Battleship? You don't bet in Battleship."

"**You** don't. I'm infirm and suffering, therefore we play everything by 'Puckett Rules'."

"Puckett Rules?"

"Laugh all you want, you say 'Puckett Rules' in Vegas or some of the larger county jails and people quit playing."

"I'm sure they do." Spencer laughs, standing up. " I'm going downstairs, you want anything? Drink? Fruit Pop?" I think for a moment. "Has it been long enough for me to take another headache pill?" Spencer glances at his watch. "Yeah." " That and a bottled water." I say, remembering that I need to keep hydrated. God, I hate this shit. My head hurts, my body aches in the most unpleasant ways, and my nose and eyes are like faucets. Add that to the dizzy spells, and you've got a recipe for shit city. Ew. I just imagined a Shit City. Kinda like the Emerald City in Wizard of Oz, but so much more horrible.

I want to lay down, but until Spencer comes back, that's a no go. I barely have the strength to stand, much less walk all the way to the futon Spence and Carls had moved up to the third floor. Why they insisted on putting me in the damned studio I haven't figured out yet, but whatever. I'm just happy they're helping me. Hell, I'm happy they didn't just turn their backs on me the way Freddie's mom did. That sucked. She was just getting used to me and Freddie dating when that awkward incident in her bathroom happened and Freddie found out he was dating a junkie. Somehow, she overheard Freddie and Carly talking about it, and when she saw me next, she wouldn't even speak to me. I tried apologizing and all that, but no dice. The only reason Freddie and I are still together is cause when she went off on him about never seeing me again, he decided it was time for him to man up and tell her to stuff it. And boy, did he.

I laugh to myself remembering how Freddie informed her that he was 16, and he was gonna date whoever he wanted, and she could go ahead and try to stop him, but right now, if she didn't mind, the love of his life needed his help, and that was all there was to it. And to top it off, he called her Marissa. Now that was funny. Her jaw literally hit the floor. She just turned around and stomped off into her bedroom, like we weren't even there anymore. I could tell it hurt Freddie, but he just shrugged and went back to whatever he was doing. Since I started quitting, he's done so much research on the whole process that him and the doctor that we're in contact with can discuss the whole thing without me ever understanding a word. Like I care anyway.

Spencer walks in and hands me a water and a couple of pinkish pills. "Thanks." I say, downing the pills quickly with a swig of the water. "Hey, can you carry me over to the futon?" "Sure." Spencer says, getting an arm under my legs, and one behind my back, lifting me bridal-style and carrying me across the room. Great, I can no longer make it across the room by myself. New low, Puckett. Good job. Well, it's for a good cause. Oh God, I'm arguing with myself. Spencer's phone rings as he sets me down on the futon. He pulls it out and puts it to his ear. "Hello? No. I can't. I'm busy. Yes, it's very important. Well, I'm sorry, but this is more important than a broken refrigerator. Call the super, then. Fuck you too, ma'am." He closes the phone, sticking his tongue out at it. I look at him quizically. "I've been doing work as a handyman here in the apartment, and I was dumb enough to give people my actual number." Oh. Wait. "I'm more important than a broken fridge?"

"Very much so. I'm not gonna leave you to your own devices in this state for 16 bucks."

"16 bucks? That's what you were charging?"

"Mmhm. I was actually charging 8 bucks an hour, so it's not nearly as bad as it sounds."

"Why?"

"Cause that's a bunch of money."

"No, why am I more important than a broken fridge?"

Spencer tosses me a look that's incredulous, pitying, and a little amused. "You're Carly's best friend and Freddie's girlfriend. Whether you like it or not, Puckett, you're family. And that means that you take priority over all that silly shit." I smile and reach out to take Spencer's hand. "You're great, Spence."

"You're hand's sweaty."


End file.
